


Lunch for Two

by lod



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Bento, Confessions, Conversations, Cooking, Food, M/M, Supportive Parent, but like no confession yet, yu's not in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21539857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lod/pseuds/lod
Summary: Yosuke and his mom have a bonding moment over Yosuke's attempts at cooking.
Relationships: Hanamura Yosuke & Yosuke's Mom, Hanamura Yosuke/Narukami Yu, Hanamura Yosuke/Persona 4 Protagonist, Hanamura Yosuke/Seta Souji
Comments: 18
Kudos: 170





	Lunch for Two

Thirty minutes ago, Yosuke had held a pretty optimistic view of the next 24 hours. First, he was going to make a perfect bento with the ingredients he’d picked up at Junes on the way home, with the vegetables cut into pretty shapes and even some little fake grass decorations. Then, he’d get to school early so he could ask Yu to eat together before anyone else got to him. And finally, he’d give him the bento, and with a single look at it Yu would understand all of Yosuke’s feelings. Then they’d spend the rest of the hour making out, taking a break just so Yu could eat the food and declare it to be even better than his own cooking.

That was before. With two bandages on his fingers where he’d slipped while trying to slice the carrots, steak strips that had managed the unlikely feat of being both burned and raw, and even his _rice_ having come out crunchy, Yosuke was beginning to believe the universe was trying to give him a sign about his projected confession, and it wasn’t a good one.

Signs apart, Yosuke actually thought he had a pretty good chance with Yu. It wasn’t so much that Yu had shown any particular interest in him — there had been no blushes, no shy glances or fleeting touches — but rather, it was who Yu had _not_ shown interest in that comforted him. Yu’d been in Inaba almost a year at this point, and he’d become the very definition of the term _chick magnet_. Every girl in school, and even some outside of it, even grown _women_ , had thrown herself at him, with shy letters and chocolates and even one hastily rebuffed kiss. Yosuke knew this, because every time it happened, the first thing Yu did afterwards was call him up to complain about it. And every time, the story ended the same way: with Yu explaining how bad he’d felt turning the girl of the day down.

Now, Yosuke could understand being picky. He couldn’t _empathise_ ; before his feelings for Yu had manifested themselves, he would have accepted any girl who’d so much as hinted at being interested. Not because he was a pervert, as Chie liked to imply, but because he was a hopeless romantic who wanted nothing more than to have someone special to him; so sue him if that didn’t fit his usual carefree attitude. Yu had had his choice of every kind of girl, though, so it wasn’t likely to be pickiness, which meant he clearly wasn’t interested in dating a girl.

That left two options: either Yu wasn’t interested in dating at all, or he was interested in guys. If it was the first option, well, there wasn’t much Yosuke could do there, but he trusted Yu wouldn’t hold his confession against him. And if it was the second… Yosuke didn’t exactly have great self-esteem, but even he knew there was no one was as close to Yu as him. He got to see sides of Yu most people rarely did — bright laughs, sarcastic jibes, quiet admissions of fear or worry — all sorts of emotions he usually kept smoothly hidden behind his impassive silver eyes. So if Yu liked guys, then Yosuke thought there was a pretty good chance that he might be willing to give _him_ a chance.

Except there was no way a half-burnt, sloppy bento with crunchy rice was ever going to manage to carry his meaning across, which would mean he’d have to confess out loud, putting his feelings into words he knew he’d get wrong because he always did, always managed to end up with his foot in his mouth, and Yu wouldn’t understand, and there would be no bright smile and no making out on the roof and no walking home hand in hand.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He still had enough ingredients left to give this another shot; he’d just save the ugly bento for himself. He picked up a carrot and a knife, trying to cut it into more even slices this time.

Then the front door slammed shut and startled him, he sliced his finger a third time, and he screamed in exasperation as much as pain as drops of blood fell onto the cutting board.

“Yosuke?” a voice called out in a worried tone, before hurried footsteps brought his mom to the kitchen’s door. “Honey, are you alright? What are you doing?”

Yosuke shoved his cut finger in his mouth and glared at the spread of food and tools surrounding him, then at her. “What does it _look_ like I’m doing.”

She blinked at the display, and sure, Yosuke didn’t cook very often — or maybe ever — but she didn’t need to gape like she’d found Chie’s pet dog trying to cook dinner, either. Before he could turn his anger over the whole situation on her, she stepped forward to pull his hand out of his mouth.

“Did you cut yourself?”

Yosuke nodded sullenly, and she grabbed the first aid kit that sat nearby on the floor, where he’d left it after bandaging his previous injuries.

“Alright, let’s get that fixed up, and then maybe you can tell me why you suddenly decided to become a chef?”

“I was trying to make a bento for school tomorrow,” Yosuke replied grumpily as she disinfected his cut and wrapped a band-aid over it.

She gave him a calculating look, but the gods must have decided he’d suffered enough for today, because she didn’t ask the question that was obviously burning on her tongue, ut instead started cleaning up the mess he’d made, looking through the ingredients on the counter.

“Hmm… grilled steak strips, vegetables and rice?”

Yosuke gave a short nod. It wasn’t anything special, as bentos went, but even before his culinary failure he’d known better than to expect too much out of himself.

His mom pulled some items out of cupboards, shuffling items around until she had everything set up to her liking.

“First thing, that knife’s no good,” she explained. “I’ve been meaning to get rid of it, but you know how your dad is with throwing stuff away… It doesn’t take a good edge, so for hard vegetables like carrots it tends to slip.” She handed him another knife, one he’d stayed away from because of how large it looked. He’d been, ironically, afraid of hurting himself with it. “This one will be much better. And let me show you how to hold the carrot so you don’t hurt yourself if you slip.”

With his mom’s help, the meal started to take shape, and soon enough the smell of grilling meat — at the right temperature this time, because apparently turning the heat up so it’d cook faster _wasn’t_ a good strategy — was filling the room while a new batch of rice cooked. Yosuke’s optimism was making a good comeback as he tasted a perfectly cooked carrot, and then his mom had to go and open her mouth.

“So, who’s this bento for?”

Yosuke dropped the bowl of vegetables he’d been holding, scattering them across the counter.

“Nobody! It’s for me!”

Which would have been more convincing, perhaps, if his voice hadn’t cracked in the middle and skipped an octave. Or not — his mom seemed to have some sort of Yosuke-bullshit detector built-in. She said it came with parenthood, which seemed entirely unfair to teenage boys just trying to survive.

“...Who do you think,” he muttered.

“One of those sweet girls who came to see you at work the other day?” she asked, and really, only a mom could call _Chie_ a sweet girl, but he passed on pointing that out in favor of shaking his head. His mom hummed as she worked to gather up the vegetables Yosuke had dropped.

“Then… is it a girl I haven’t met? Is she from school?”

“You’ve met them,” Yosuke replied, reticent but well aware she wouldn’t give up until she found out anyway.

Something seemed to light up in her eyes at his words. “Ah… not a girl, then, hmm.” She smiled knowingly, an all-too-perceptive glint in her eyes. “It wouldn’t happen to be your best friend, would it?”

“He’s my _partner_ , mom, not my best friend,” Yosuke huffed. It wasn’t the same thing. Best friends were for people like Yukiko and Chie, or Daisuke and Kou; what he and Yu had went deeper than that. Partners meant standing side by side, always supporting one another; it meant having each other’s backs in life or death situations, and knowing what the other person needed without even having to ask. And ok, maybe Yukiko and Chie had that, too, but what he had with Yu was _special_ , and that was that.

“Partners, huh?” his mom asked. “So are you two…” she trailed off and raised her eyebrows at him.

It took him a moment to understand what she was hinting at, and he shook his head, feeling his cheeks heating up against his will. “No! No. Not… yet.”

Yosuke’s mom reached forward to pick up the little heart-shaped vegetable cutters he’d bought, then placed them in his hands.

“We’d better get back to work, then. This bento’s going to be _perfect_ ,” she told him with a fond smile, ruffling his hair before she turned back to check on the grilling steak.

  


They finished up a short time later, and after the two bentos were securely in the fridge, Yosuke did the dishes while his mom cleaned up the kitchen.

“Do you… do you think he’ll say yes?” he asked half under his breath, barely audible above the sound of running water.

There was no immediate reply, and he thought she hadn’t heard, but after a few seconds she came to turn the tap off and looked at him with a serious expression.

“I can’t tell you that. He’s the only one who can. But, whatever he says, I’m proud of you. It takes a lot of courage and honesty to confess your feelings,” she said, pulling him into a hug. “He’d be lucky to have you, you know — anybody would. You’re a good kid.”

Yosuke blushed, unused to such praise from his mom; they were close, often pranking each other or playing games together, but they weren’t often emotionally open like that. “Thanks, mom,” he mumbled as he turned back to the dishes.

When they were almost done, Yosuke working on the last pot, she came to lean against the counter next to him with a mischievous smile.

“Now, I meant what I said — he’s the only one who can answer your confession. But, just so you know…I’m pretty sure you have a chance. I’ve seen that kid spend 20 minutes hiding by the door at Junes just so he could ‘accidentally’ run into you on your way home.”

“Wait, what?! You never told me that!”

She winked at him. “I also never told him you stalk the security cams to make sure you can go restock whatever aisle he happens to be in, so I think you two are even.”

Yosuke spluttered. “I— I don’t— I never— _erghhhh,_ ” he groaned, pulling his shoulders up to hide his flushed face while his mom patted his back and laughed her way right out of the kitchen.


End file.
